Ivy
by HungerGames226
Summary: Ivy Pottinger leads a quiet, predictable life in the Seam working in the apothecary. Until a phantom young man with an arrow wound stumbles through the door, changing her life forever.


**Chapter One**

* * *

"Ivy, can you close up shop today? It _is_ your turn, after all," moaned Bonnie.

She was always doing that, Ivy reflected, as she sighed and reluctantly agreed.

Her fifteen year-old sister crossed to the door and closed it, the little iron bell tinkling as she disappeared up the rickety wooden stairs. "Don't forget to lock up," she shouted as she disappeared out of sight, her shiny golden hair flapping behind her.

A blanket of evening crept over the mountains, beginning to tuck in the tiny Merchant Village for bedtime. A dented old clock on the fireplace read 7:34 - the days were beginning to get longer and longer as the harsh winter melted into spring.

Springtime was a particularly cheerful time in District 12, the jolliness spreading even as far back as the Seam, where the citizens had even less than Ivy. She had only been there once, to retrieve plants from the Meadow that went into lifesaving concoctions. She swore she would never do it again. On most days, the people she passed were bone-thin, hollow-eyed, their lips cracking. And, oh, how they moaned. For food. For water. For who-knows-what.

But, when spring came, Ivy could sense the love. Mothers grabbed their children, lovers were reminded of their passion for one another; the warm air practically pulled the cold and sorrow from the ground, leaving the District with the relieving thought that they had survived the harshness and unforgiving bite of winter.

As Ivy plugged the corks back into the small glass bottles used that day, she could see right across the Village into the Bakery. For a moment she watched Arthur Mellark, a tall boy of her own age, closing up shop just as she was. She knew he had feelings for her; she could see it in his eyes when she purchased raisin bread from him. He gave her the best loaf for a coin or two cheaper than the usual four bronze pieces. His blush was consistent and his eyes were moony. Even when he disappeared into the back room to get her loaves he rarely took his eyes off her, as if he was unsure she was real.

For her to requite his feelings were chancy. He was tall, muscled, and had a handsome boyish quality, but what he lacked was spirit. Sure, he was sweet and kind to her, and her mother would be happy if she married a baker's boy. But he seemed to be perfectly content where he is; no wish to break free of the suffocating, boring Village and find adventure. At least, that's what Ivy wanted, to some degree. But for her wish to be granted was impossible.

She looked away as Arthur looked back at her. Even from across the way, she could feel his eyes on her. She could almost feel the longing. After a moment, she tentatively glanced back, to see the lamps out and Arthur heading up the stairs.

The clock ticked as she shuffled around the creaky wooden flooring that had been there for ages; it probably hadn't been replaced since it was laid down generations ago. Her great-great-great grandparents had walked this floor, she figured. The Pottingers had owned the apothecary for just as long.

As she closed the hand-blown glass bottles into the cupboard, there came a heavy rapping at the door. Ivy jumped, immediately turning on her heels and opening the door for whoever waited outside. To her dismay, three boys, obviously from the Seam, invited themselves in. For a moment she thought they were drunk - that's why two of them were supporting an even more stumbling boy.

Then she noticed the arrow.

All other thoughts were wiped clear of her mind; she blocked out the cries of the leftmost boy supporting the wounded man. She disregarded all prejudices she had against the Seam and the people from it. Someone was injured, and she was going to fix them up.

She ordered the desperate two men to lay him on the table, and she swiped off everything left on it. Though Ivy had never treated an arrow wound before, she instinctively tore his pants around the arrow, grabbed a roll of gauze, wrapping it speedily around his shin, to prevent the arrow from moving around and causing more damage. The arrow was lodged crookedly in his leg, like the useless telephone poles that stuck out of the hills at funny angles.

Then, she asserted the two men to make sure no blood comes out from behind the gauze, and if it did, to apply pressure to it until it stops. Fingers flying, she found a bunch of yarrow, and pounded it with a wooden mortar till it was mush. She hurried to her ailing patient and slipped it under the gauze with her fingers just as her sisters came downstairs.

"Ivy, what-" inquired Fiona, her sister of only a year older than her, as she hurried down the stairs. Then her eyes flitted to the prominent object sticking out of the victim's shin, and she paled.

Cautiously, Ivy removed the gauze just as quickly as she applied it, tossing it by the sink. Dipping her fingers into the mortar she brought more yarrow paste onto the punctured leg. Dried blood was caked on the surrounding area and more had been dripping out, but when she put a fresh bandage on it had stopped considerably. Bonnie was quickly pouring a cup of tea with the same flower, using the lukewarm water left over from the day.

Despite being treated, the man continued to cry. Her mind in a frenzy, Ivy remembered the morphling. Her hands were a blur as she searched through the cupboards and cabinets for a syringe and the bottle of liquid as clear as water. Finally, she found them, giving Bonnie the syringe to sterilize as quickly as possible. In an instant it was handed back to her, and she prepared the syringe with shaking hands.

"Hold his hands," she told the two recovering men. "This might hurt a bit."

Then, she jabbed the needle into the muscly part of his shin, and all listened as a sigh of relief escaped the wounded's lips.

"Ah," he said, his voice surprisingly sweet. "That's much better."

Bonnie propped his head up on a feather pillow, telling him to close his eyes and Ivy carefully extracted the arrow. Luckily, it wasn't too deep, but she knew to be extra careful not to cause additional damage with the sharp point. Thankfully, it came out in one clean piece. The man barely winced as Bonnie gave him sips of tea.

"You two can go on home," Ivy instructed them. "Be here by 6:30 tomorrow morning; he'll be fixed up by then."

"He's not coming with us?" the older-looking man asked suspiciously. "Why not?"

Ivy eyed him. "Trust me," she answered. "We know what we're doing. He should stay the night and rest up, gain his strength before making it home tomorrow. Besides, he'll need crutches."

Shrugging, the two men patted the victim on the shoulders and left the apothecary, thanking Ivy profusely as they exited. The bell tinkled behind them.

"Bonnie," Ivy said to her young sister. "You can go upstairs, go to bed. I'll watch after him."

Bonnie nodded and trotted on up the stairs once again. Ivy noted that neither of her parents had come to see what the discomfit was about. They were heavy sleepers, she supposed.

"Thank you," sang the man. "I appreciate it more than you know."

As Ivy pulled up a chair beside the patient's table, she smiled courteously. He was handsome, maybe even more so than Arthur but in a rugged way. He was freshly shaved, but smeared with dirt and coal. Probably a mine worker. "Of course," Ivy said. "It's my job."

The man turned his head towards her, tiredly initiating conversation. "My name is Colin," he told her. "Everdeen."

"Ivy," she returned. "Pottinger."

"You and your sisters are great at what you do," he admitted. "Well, at least the younger one. The other one went pale as a ghost, and ran." He smiled as he said this, his steel gray eyes sparkling with life.

In spite of herself, the girl laughed. "Fiona," she informed him. "She's twenty, she's fixin' up to get hitched."

"To who?" He inquired respectfully.

"His name is Donell," he replied. "Donell Avery. He's from the Village, I don't suppose you know him." Then, in realizing her comment might have been of offense, she continued, "You might, though. But he's rich, and knows it, too." Her words held an air of remorse behind them. Her sister would live a life of ease with Donell, who worked as District 12's most sought out blacksmith.

"I reckon I don't know him, in fact," Colin told her. His eyelids were desperately trying to keep themselves open, thanks to the morphling. Most of her patients who had the pain reliever running through their veins would be dead asleep by now. This one was resistant. And for that she was thankful - she didn't mind the company.

Night was in full bloom by them, and Ivy realized that the apothecary light was the only one still on. She sat up, lit a candle, and turned off the kerosene lamp. Then, imitating the actions of every other shop in the Village, she closed the blinds.

"So," Colin said, still yet feigning weariness, "how old are you, Ms. Pottinger?"

"I'm eighteen," she responded. "And you?"

"Nineteen," he replied with equal inflection. "You going to finish off your education this fall?"

Ivy knew what he was talking about, and knew that to ask would provide an inevitable answer. "No," she replied. "Too much money. Besides, I'll be working here the rest of my life. I don't need an education to do that."

"I see," the young man responded. Then, he said, "You really fixed me up well, Ivy. Thank you."

"Like I said, it was my pleasure." She knew that if someone in her family caught her speaking with slang, she would be chastised. The Pottingers prided themselves on good dialect. "Now, what happened that you took an arrow in your knee?"

Colin's volume staggered to a whisper. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked with a wink. When Ivy nodded, moving in closer out of curiosity, he continued. "I was teaching my two friends to hunt."

The young woman slowly sat back in her chair, dumbfounded. And, frankly, a little bit frightened. "Hunting?" she asked, "That's illegal. Isn't it?"

He clenched his teeth together, and spoke wryly. "I reckon so. But, people from the Seam are so poor, sometimes there's nothing else to do. Either hunt or watch your people starve."

Uncomfortable at the conversation, Ivy didn't respond. The Peacekeepers, brutal men who kept the citizens of District 12 in line, were at an all-time strictness. He could be shot for hunting.

"Please don't look at me any different, now. I do it 'cause I have to, not because I want to," he told her reassuringly. "If it were up to me, we wouldn't need to hunt at all."

"Of course not," Ivy told him, not quite sure of its truth. "I understand."

He flashed a smile. "Good," he said. But his words drooped at the end. His eyes closed.

In just a matter of moments, the morphling kicked in, leaving him asleep. Ivy stayed awake, wondering.

* * *

"What is this?!" came a shout from behind. Ivy woke up with a jerk, disoriented. She had fallen asleep by Colin, her head resting on the table by his chest.

She got up to her feet, rubbing her eyes. "It's not what it looks like, Mama," she cried, "he had a... a..." she knew she couldn't tell her it was an arrow wound. Her mind searched furiously for other possible sharp objects. "It was a shrapnel wound. He got it in the mines, and came all the way here. I had to treat him, Mama."

Mrs. Pottinger wrung a towel in her bony fingers. She was a kind woman, to most, and very concerned with the manners of her family. But she was unfortunately prejudiced against those of the Seam.

"I told his friends to come and get him by 6:30, before we open," she explained to her mother hurriedly. "It's almost time."

Her mother pursed her lips and ran her tongue over her top teeth. "Fine," she said resentfully. "Just make sure he's out before anyone can see him." Then she disappeared up the stairs with arrogance.

Thankfully, Colin was asleep, so he couldn't have heard her mother's sharp words. But he was now awakening at the commotion. "Good morning, Ivy," he said groggily. Then, he gasped, smiling. "My leg - it looks great!" He undid the bandage, and the sight was enough to show that what Ivy had done worked well. It was nothing more than a small puncture, any sign of infection had been eaten by the yarrow paste.

At precisely 6:30, Colin's friends returned to the apothecary, with two makeshift crutches. Where they acquired them, Ivy had no idea. Colin thanked her profusely and left, bringing the sun with him.

As she cleaned the table from the strenuous night, she realized how charmed she was. He was so rugged and interesting, a spark in his eye... of what? Mischief? He _did_ receive the wound from a hunting accident, presumably shot by one of his friends. His smile was so pure and joyful. She had never seen anyone so happy as that, and he was close to death just a few hours prior.

Fiona came downstairs, her dark hair tied up in a bandanna. The rest of Ivy's family was blonde haired, blue-eyed, and Fiona's black hair made her stick out like a sore thumb. Somewhere back in history, her father had told them, someone got married to a Seam girl. It's a wonder Fiona was the only one who got the dark hair gene.

Though it shouldn't have been, Fiona wore her hair like a badge of shame. Mrs. Pottinger absolutely detested people from the Seam, and reminded her daughters of it as often as possible. Small wonder Fiona was marrying young, getting out of the house as soon as possible.

"Is he gone? Fiona asked cautiously. Ivy nodded without looking up from her cleaning. Aside from the dry blood, there was a thin layer of coal dust on the table.

Mr. and Mrs. Pottinger came downstairs soon after, preparing the open up shop. The sun was already fully in the sky, casting a beautiful pink sunrise over the crest of the mountains in the distance. Her mother was trying to avoid the fact that a Seam boy had been in the very room she walked in just before, as if she couldn't bear the thought of touching him, even indirectly.

The first customer of the day walked in promptly at 7:00, a Village woman with a small girl of three or four. The girl's neck was swollen to the size of an apple, causing Ivy to swallow hard. Immediately, as she exchanged glances with her mother and Bonnie, she knew what it was.

"Sit her up, please," commanded Ivy's mother to the concerned mother. She sat her little girl up on the table, a beautiful creature with big blue eyes and rosy cheeks. "Open wide," she continued.

Her mother eyed the back of the girl's throat with a magnifying glass, and pursed her lips pensively. "Just as I thought," she declared. "Diphtheria."

When the child's mother gasped slightly, Mrs. Pottinger continued. "It can be fatal - if not treated. She should be eating garlic cloves as often as possible." Ivy instinctively went to the corner cupboard where they stored their herbs, brought out two cloves of garlic, and handed them to her mother.

"She could also eat lots of oranges, but good luck finding them. They don't grow much up here; we certainly have none."

Her mother then said that there wasn't much that could be done there; it takes weeks to heal. She charged one silver coin for her service, and bode them farewell.

The next customer, unsurprisingly, was Arthur Mellark. He came as often as he could, always making an excuse to need things. A sore throat. A headache. His mother was having cramps. Anything to talk to Ivy. Today was no different.

"My brother hurt his finger," he exclaimed. "Burned it, actually. What do you have for burns?"

Mrs. Pottinger was out of the room, leaving Ivy to tend to the customers. Fiona bustled about organizing the cabinets to her right. As Ivy put together a tiny jar of honey and a little glass of diluted vinegar, she caught Fiona giving watchful glances at Arthur. Her eyes were wide, but she blinked often, batting her eyelashes so obviously.

Arthur left with one bronze piece less, and Ivy turned to Fiona, who was watching sadly as the bell tinkled, marking his exit. "You're so obvious, Fiona," said Ivy, giggling.

Her sister turned to her sharply. "What are you insinuating? I love Donell," she declared quickly. Her arms were crossed and she stood fulsomely. Ivy just looked at her skeptically.

"You should talk to him," Ivy told her quietly. "He's a very nice boy."

"Of course I wouldn't. He's madly in love with _you_," Fiona assured her. "Besides, I love Donell," she repeated, "why would I need anyone else?"

Ivy said nothing, but kept a smirk about her face for a while after. It was Sunday, and everybody in the District closed earlier, so the shop was busier than usual. In turn, Ivy's entire family was expected to work, even Bonnie, who didn't have school. But by Ivy's twenty-minute lunch break in the middle of the day, she knew what she wanted to do.

* * *

The Seam was a short walk from the apothecary's location in the Merchant's Village; you could see the shacks from the window above the sink. Ivy said nothing to anybody as she slithered out the backdoor through the newly tended-to garden, and began walking quickly to the Seam.

As she walked, a million worries flooded her thoughts. _You don't know where he lives, what if you get lost? What if you get mugged, or raped, or killed? What if you get kidnapped? What if they hiss at you because you're from the Village? _In spite of it all, she persisted in walking, taking larger strides as she neared closer and closer to the outermost house.

Dilapidated, overgrown, the wood rotting in the walls. But very obviously inhabited. Through the rusty windows was an old woman sewing or patching something with bloody fingers. Ivy looked forward. She passed bony children playing beside a river just behind the row of homes. A bearded old man shakily moving a wheelbarrow. A young man on crutches.

Overjoyed, Ivy began to walk faster, even jogging slightly, her worn leather boots slapping the ground unnaturally. These shoes were made for the cobblestone streets of town, not the uneven grass and mud of the Seam. Nonetheless, she caught up to the crutched figure.

"Colin," she cried happily. He turned around, a dashing smile gracing his face within seconds.

"Good morning, Ivy," he said. "I'm feeling much better now. You fixed me up so well."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said humbly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and looking towards her feet. "You've recovered quickly. Though I reckon you won't be returning for a while now."

He laughed heartily, whatever life that had drained from him after his wound quickly returning. "No, I reckon I won't," he confirmed. Then, after a moment, he patched up the silence. "Would you like me to show you around?"

After a brief moment of hesitation - who knew what going deeper into the Seam could bring - Ivy agreed. So, off they began, slowed only slightly because of Colin's disability. It was a glorious March day, the warmest they'd remembered in a while. The buds were beginning to burst with the gentle white and pink dogwoods; the beautiful rhododendrons that resemble fireworks; the scruffy yellow flowers called rue that grew all throughout the district. The air was warm but not yet balmy; the April rains were soon to come. But Ivy was comfortable nonetheless in her cream jersey knit blouse and loose brown skirt that ended just below her knees. Her hair was done in a French braid and tied with her usual baby blue ribbon.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" reflected Alexis thoughtfully.

Ivy held her hands together in front of her, and looked around at the sigogglin little shacks and makeshift tents around her. The mountains peeked out on the horizon; District 12 was situated in a valley in the crook of the two most prominent mountains available.

"Yes, it is," Ivy finally agreed. By walking past each shack and tent, Ivy could see glimpses of mothers trying to feed their young, children playing with sticks and mud, a woman clutching a locket and old-looking photograph with sadness. And miners everywhere. Miners in the shacks, and milling about the Seam, and picking at chicken bones. It was Sunday, she realized, the sole day of the week when miners had off and all the shops in the Village closed before 5:30. Was the Seam any more cheerful than usual on Sundays?

Colin looked over, still trying to get used to his new crutches. "Are you alright? You look uncomfortable," he said bluntly but not rudely. Ivy had slowed down to a halt, and she was shaking.

Just a few feet in front of the two young people was an old man, coughing and wheezing, but that wasn't the alarming part. His left leg had apparently been amputated - not recently, by the looks of it - but it had evidently not been well tended-to after. It moved with worms and maggots, eating away at the flesh with vigor. It reeked of rotten blood and spoiled milk, and between the abundance of parasites she could just make out tattered, blood-soaked bandages with pus oozing out from the seams.

"I'm awfully sorry to say that I should be going now," Ivy confessed quickly. "My lunch break is over in just a couple minutes. My mama is strict about being late, you know."

"Well, that's a shame," said Colin. "But, I don't want to get you in trouble with your mama." He leaned over and hugged her firmly, and Ivy returned the favor with a dainty touch. She said goodbye and hurried off, her steps somewhere between a walk and a run. And by the time she reached the edge of the Seam, her cheeks were dirtied with tears.

* * *

She came in one minute late, but her mother was shouting. "There are customers waiting, Ivy," she stormed. "How can you be so selfish as to take an extra minute and a half? Nobody's taking your shift for you." Then, upon seeing Ivy's body racking with sobs, "What's wrong?"

Ivy choked on her tears, which came down now in torrents. "W-we could help - help him, Mama," she cried. She turned to her and pleaded like a child. "Mama, we could help him!"

Her mother looked around at the curious customers and barked at Fiona to take her shift. "Wh-what on earth are you _talking_ about, Ivy? Help who?!" Ivy was crying like a baby, so her mother hurried her into the back room with haste.

"What is this about, Ivy?" Her mother's words with stern. "Where were you? Who is this 'him' you're talking about?"

Ivy tearfully admitted, "I saw an old man - by the Seam..."

"The Seam?! What the hell were you doing there?!" her mother demanded.

"I'm sorry, Mama," Ivy sobbed. "But we need to save him!"

Mrs. Pottinger breathed heavily and pursed her lips. Arms crossed, she said with an air of finality, "This is nonsense, girl. I won't hear anymore of it. If you decide to be woman enough to collect yourself, maybe I can understand you enough to help." Then she crossed to the door and floated back into the main room to help a customer.

It was there she left Ivy, sobbing and confused.


End file.
